Blather. Rinse. Repeat.

So, last night, Michael and I were sitting on the couch, watching SYTYCD.

He made some remark about Mary Murphy's (one of the judges) dress ... It showed LOTS of cleavage, was leopard print with little sheer-black poofs of "sleeves" that hovered about halfway down her upper arms ... and was paired with black and gold Betty Rubble - style beads (I mean, that's the best I can describe it). It was ... different.

Finally, about halfway through the show, I'm so distracted by it that I just have to question it -- "What IS up with Mary's hooker-dress??"

Michael: THAT's IT!! I KNEW something was wrong about it!!

Later, as I'm feeling the general ennui that comes before Aunt Flo drops in for a visit, I made another remark:

Me: I don't LIKE it when I'm all hormonal.
Michael: I don't like it when you're hormonal, either.

Cue my hysterical laughter. I don't know what it was, but, oh my, it was the perfect thing to say.

See? I may be overly sensitive about 99.3% of the time ... but I can take a joke, too!!!

In other news, I went to a playdate yesterday. I ran into my friend Jenny at storytime yesterday ... she invited me along to her ward's playdate. The kidlets had a BLAST. Bruise was all about the tire swing (I spun him around so much that he totally FELL DOWN SIDEWAYS ... and I laughed so hard I couldn't pick him up for a sec. Bad me. I know.), while Bucket was having a blast trailing after Jenny's daughter (Bucket loves hanging with the older girls). And Jenny's daughter was so nice about it. She even remembered Bucket's name from when we came over to their house a few weeks ago.

To gild the lily, while I hung out with the other moms (in that brief period of time when Bruise wasn't demanding that I push him on the swings), Jenny referred to me as her "reading goddess." Aww! I was touched, even if I played it off by saying it was only because I have about a thousand (no joke) books on my TBR list at Goodreads. ^_^

I also had dinner ready when Michael got home last night. Woot for me!! I made this chicken pasta dish from The Pioneer Woman. Now, I used chicken breasts instead of thighs and I used different noodles ... and I didn't have fresh herbs ... but it was really good. I mean, Bruise -- my son who only PICKS at dinners -- ate just about all that was put in front of him! He ate all the little pieces of chicken and all the noodles. There were only some small bits of diced tomato left on his plate! If that's not a glowing review, I don't know what is!

(Also, I MUST cook some broccoli tonight. the children were distressed that I hadn't made it last night. Yes, my children clamor for "Brokky." Yes, I KNOW that this is not normal. Yes, I enjoy the hell out of it. And, yes, I know that they get it from me. I heart me some "brokkies.")
(And seriously, if you want the easiest recipe for roast broccoli, let me know. I could post it. It's SO supereasy and delicious. Bucket would eat her weight in roasted broccoli if given the chance.)

Another reason I'm aware that Aunt Flo is coming by? I'm not sleeping well. I can't fall asleep before, oh, ONE IN THE FRAKKIN' MORNING. Grr. And when my kidlets are waking up around six-thirty-ish ... Yeah, I consider it quite the proof of what an excellent mother I am that I, who require around 7-8.5 hours of sleep, am dealing with whinings and tantrums as well as I am on five hours of sleep.

Another thing to be mentioned: I do NOT get my son. I love him. I adore him ... but I sometimes do not GET him.
CASE IN POINT: He started smacking his sister yesterday. REPEATEDLY. Like six times! SIX. DIFFERENT. EPISODES.
What? I can't quite consolidate this Bruise with the one that not five minute earlier is climbing on my lap and giving me the sweetest little-boy kisses. I kiss him on the lips. He'll gently take my head, turn it to the side, and give me a little smackeroo on my cheek; turn the mommy-head, give a smackeroo on the other cheek.
(Cue: Awwwww! <-- and not at all ironical. It's seriously enough to bring some tears to my eyes. Because in a few years, he's going to refuse to have anything to do with me. And I'll be standing there with my bleeding, beating heart in my hand as he races out to play or off to school, calling that he's too big to give/get kisses.)
(And that's when I'll yell after him that, by golly, I changed his diapers and got his urine in my eye, dammit. He had better give his mother a kiss!!!!1!)
(Because, yes, I AM classy like that.)

Oh, I bought the kidlets each a little no-spill bubble container-with-wand on Monday. Monday night, Bruise loses his.
I feel bad giving Bucket hers, because he tries to steal it to play with.
Michael wants Bruise to accept responsibility for this -- either by finding the stupid thing (Hey, Bucket and I prayed that we'd find it. It's gotta turn up sometime. Sometime. Soon would be good. Especially since I've gone through the whole house looking for it. But he HIDES things in the strangest places!)
So, either Bruise can FIND it (unless he left it on the sidewalk or something and someone walked off with it) ... OR he can take the two dollars out of his piggy to buy a new one ...

Is it bad, though, that I just want to buy some spare ones so that I'll always be able to find a couple of them? Or the bigger-sized ones (but those are $5 as compared to the $2 ones that we bought) so that they're harder to hide/lose?

Oh, for a less-limited income so that I could spoil my babies!

(And, yeah, I'm kinda worked up about this whole situation of not-finding-the-bubbles because, like I mentioned, I'm a bit hormonal. It really sucks. Why can't I be on a nice, even keel?? Stupid part of this mortal experience. Gah. I'll put up with it ... just because I kinda have to. But I don't have to enjoy it. Female power and earth-mother-stuff my heinie.)